Epiphanies, Dreams, Angels, Henry Winkler, Joan Jett & Me
Is that a title or is that a title? Now in my previous post I spoke about recently getting past the hump of a severe depression; the final catalyist, or more accurately the last straw that snapped my head out of my ass was this weird but really cool dream that just brought it all together.
Anybody who knows me knows that I am not a “spiritual” guy. I don’t believe in angels or faeries or think that dreams mean a damn. In my opinion, dreams, when you remember them, are the brain’s equivalant of “showing your work” behind a lengthy algebra problem. The following crazy ass dream was essentially the last bit of processing of a ton of information that led to my feeling better. I warn you this might be one of the stupidest things you will ever inflict upon your eyes and psyche; at the same time I also think that it’s a pretty funny look into the depts of my psyche.
Ok, here we go. The dream started with me wandering around a mostly beige hotel lobby with tasteful berber carpets & a smattering of small round tables with similarly upholstered roller chairs in groups of three around them. As I walk by I am waved over to a table by Henry Winkler who is sitting there while wearing a “Member’s Only” jacket and keeping an eye on an ordinary red colored piece of rolling luggage.
Let me emphasise this is a visage of Henry Winkler as he is now, not “The Fonz” but the good natured real life nebbishy, Jewish, Henry Winkler. This is a very important part of the narrative.
As I sit down next to Mr. Winkler, we are joined by the lovley and talented Joan Jett; again as she looks now, crew cut, tattooed & frankly still damn hot. They engage in small talk and Henry introduces me during with I comment that I had no idea that they knew each other.
“Oh we don’t actually.” said Henry Winkler
“We’re angels actually as manifested by your rather troubled mind.” said Joan Jett cheerily.
I stared from one to another rather suspiciously, feeling the cheap vinyl of the imaginary seat I was in creaking as I squirmed uncomfortably. Being no stranger to the occasional shockingly realistic dream, I figured that I might as well play along and go with this.
“So this is a dream, you guys are “angels” (said with the finger quotation marks), which you know I don’t believe in and we’re sitting in an unremarkable hotel lobby that exists in my subconcious.”
“Pretty much.” said Henry Winkler casually.
“In that case why are you appearing as “Henry Winkler” instead of “The Fonz”?”
“Because, first you were never a big “Happy Days” fan, and second, in this form I represent substance devoid of artifice.”
“All right… I can buy that, what about you Ms. Jett”
She laughed and playfully plopped herself into my lap (she couldn’t have been more than 5 feet tall, I have no idea if this is true or not but this is a big retarded dream after all that I’m writing about) and said,
“I’ve taken this form because I’m a lesbian Icon who you respect despite being a fat straight guy, but still are attracted to enough to sit through anything I have to say.”
“Fair enough.” I said, preparing to listen.
The 2 of them went on for a while extolling the virtues of moderation, Buddism, veganism (though they knew that one was a hard to impossibe sell despite my sympathy and intermittant history of vegetarianism) and reminded me of many of my own perspectives from childhood and how to implement them in raising my own kids.
After a while “Joan” started to notice I was starting to get bored and said;
“Ok Dom that’s enough for today.” she said like a long suffering kindergarten teacher, “It is a dream after all so lets fly around for a while.”
To which I enjoyed a short period of realistic dream flying with Henry Winkler & Joan Jett until I woke up, feeling, quite frankly, much better.
So that’s the dream that helped me out some. It was far from the only thing that turned me around but was the last little push I needed. Also let’s be honest, the above was pretty ridiculous and isn’t life in general when you get around to it.